Property of Dean Winchester
by A Deed Without a Name
Summary: Sam gets a new tattoo, one that doesn't really serve any protective purposes. It certainly catches Dean's attention, though. Request. PWP. WARNING: Contains Wincest, dirty talk, and tattoo!kink.


**This was a request from CatCatCityBitch ( u/4983622/)**

**She asked for a Wincest PWP piece with the inclusion of dirty talk and a tattoo kink. Apparently, stigmatophilia's not that common of a thing, so I had a tough time finding stuff on it, but I did my best with it.**

**Also, right after you get a tattoo, don't let your boyfriend/girlfriend/lover play with it like Dean does with Sam's in this story. It'll hurt really bad and then it'll get infected.**

**WARNING: Contains graphic Wincest, dirty talk, and tattoo!kink. Leave if you don't like any of that, or if you're not sure about it.**

**Requests are currently closed...sorry about that.**

* * *

Hands, rough with calluses and a single silver ring, swept hungrily down Sam's sides, leaving trails of white-hot fire behind them. He groaned and leaned back into the touch, eyes fluttering closed in pure pleasure. The hands settled on his denim-clad hips, hot breath ghosted against his bare shoulder and he moaned loudly, which was what he knew Dean wanted to hear. It didn't take all that much effort to make the sound, though. Not with how he was feeling.

Every hair on his body (and a few other parts of him, too) stood at immediate attention when Dean growled in his ear: "Bed. Now."

Fingertips raked over the sore, puffy spot between his shoulder blades, and Sam gasped, then whimpered. Dean pressed hot, soothing lips to it as he guided them both towards the bed. The _huge_ bed, since they were in this sleazy motel's version of a honeymoon suite. Dean's interest had been immediately piqued when Sam asked for it at the front desk, and had constantly pestered him about just what he wanted it for, but Sam guessed that he knew now.

When Dean pushed him down onto the mattress, Sam twisted on purpose. Landing on his back, he grinned smugly up at his brother, then laughed as he was manhandled onto his stomach with rough movements.

"Oh, c'mon, don't you think I'm pretty from the front?" he teased, looking back over his shoulder as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. Dark, silky hair tumbled into his eyes, and he blew it out of the way with an absentminded huff.

"Believe me, Sammy, I just can't get enough of the front of you." Springs creaked and protested as Dean climbed onto the bed, straddling Sam's thighs. This really was a cheap mattress; they didn't even weigh four hundred pounds together. "Your back's got what I want, though."

Sam had, over the years, gotten pretty adept at making sounds that he knew would make Dean go from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. So he arched his back and purred, deep in his throat, when fingertips snaked down beneath the waistband of his jeans.

"Pretty sure that you only like me for my ass," he panted, smiling down at the watercolor bedspread. He lifted his hips, wiggling them enticingly, and felt Dean lay a hand on one side of his ass.

"Well, it's just a..._glorious_ ass, I'll give you that," Dean conceded huskily, giving his handful of Sam an appreciative squeeze. His grip tightened a little when Sam moaned again. "But you've gotta know that that's not what I'm focused on, little brother." His hand lifted, running over the shallow dip that was the small of Sam's back, and up the ridge of his spine. "I mean, you've been taking my cock for...how long now? Three years?"

"Three and a half," Sam corrected. He could feel Dean's crotch pressing against the cleft of his jean-covered ass. His full-blown erection, barely contained by his own jeans. Sam guessed that seeing what he'd gotten inked into the smooth, unblemished skin between his shoulder blades had made him half-hard, and running his hands over him had brought him the rest of the way.

Dean chuckled. "Someone's been keeping count...haven't I been keeping you busy enough, Sammy?" He dipped his head, and Sam's tongue popped out of his mouth in a needy pant as Dean nuzzled against his bicep. More specifically, the glossy black ink that wrapped around his bicep - a South Pacific tribal tattoo, the design one that kept the spirits of the dead from possessing the living. It was two years old. They hadn't left the bedroom for three days after he'd gotten it.

"Y-yeah...you have, don't worry," Sam assured breathlessly, as he grounded back against Dean. His shoulder blades twitched towards each other, and he winced in pain as the swollen skin between them was compressed. Dean smoothed him out with one hand and a gentle murmur, but Sam suspected that it was more about getting a good look at what was written there than it was about making him more comfortable.

"Did I just hear a stutter?" Dean's hands snaked around Sam's narrow, sculpted waist, and he thought about getting one of their prints drawn onto himself. Right above the ridge of a hip. White ink, or maybe a green that'd match his brother's eyes...either way, it'd be a parallel to the fading, hand-shaped scar on Dean's shoulder. He'd always detested it.

"Can't help it," Sam defended himself, voice low as he rolled his hips. He kept the movement deliciously slow. "Not with your gigantic cock pressed up against my ass. Can you ever pass up an opportunity to tease me?"

"Nope," Dean replied, puffs of breath rolling over the back of Sam's neck as he pressed his lips to the spidery blue symbol there. Enochian claiming mark - to the few (all angels) who could recognize it at a glance, it meant that Sam had mated for life, and it'd warranted five straight days in bed. "Not when there's a possibility that it could get you begging for this 'gigantic cock.' Know you're always hungry for it, but the begging's special. I like it when you beg."

"Pervert," Sam accused, taking fistfuls of the bedding and grinning in anticipation of what he knew was coming. Eventually.

"Mm-hm." There was Latin script in the small of Sam's back. Every time that a demon touched him, it burned them a little, and the pain was worse the closer they were to the tattoo. Dean was stroking it almost reverently right now. _Two days,_ Sam thought to himself, and that had mostly been because of where the tattoo was and not the ink itself. "Tramp stamp." That was what Dean had gleefully called it. "Don't pretend that you don't just wanna come in your panties when I get to talking dirty, though."

Dean's usually-subtle twang got so much more pronounced when he was excited. Hearing any similar accent, even on someone else, made Sam's cock stir.

"Lube's on the nightstand," Sam announced, voice purposely strained. "I thought this through...just fuck me already, would you?"

"Beg, Sammy." Dean didn't move so much as an inch in the direction of their lube. Their half-full bottle of lube, which would have to be replaced soon. It was a damn good thing that they were both male, because even when Sam hadn't gotten a new tattoo for awhile, they screwed like rabbits. It'd been three and a half years, and they still couldn't keep their hands off of each other.

Sam glanced back over his shoulder, and smirked. Dean had gotten his own shirt off somewhere along the line, exposing dark nipples, widespread freckles, and his antipossession tattoo. The only one on his body (Sam had been very thorough about checking, so he knew that he wasn't hiding anything). Dean wasn't marked. Dean didn't need to be marked. Sam, on the other hand, had to have ownership and protection written up one side of him and down the other.

"No matter how much I beg," he predicted, "there's no way that you're gonna take my pants off so soon."

"You're learning, aren't you?" There was an approving note in Dean's voice. Sam shuddered as he began to rock his hips against him, but not hard or fast enough to really do anything to either of them. It was just another way to tease him. "I wanna enjoy _this_ a little more before I give you what you want." On the word "this," Dean pressed a hand to the tender area between Sam's shoulder blades. Pleasure zipped straight down his spine - or maybe he was pain. He was already too far gone to be able to tell the difference between the two.

"So...you like it?" It wasn't a question that he really needed to ask, but he wanted to hear Dean say it.

"Oh, hell, yes, I do. It's perfect," Dean replied. Honesty was just as evident in his voice as arousal was. "Not quite like any of your others, though...this one was just for me, wasn't it?"

Sam smiled. There was a warm glow in his stomach, right below his navel: part desire, part pride, and part affection.

"Your birthday's getting sorta close," he said, and it came out as a seductive purr.

"Six months away, genius," Dean shot back. "But you know me. I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth." More touching, more kissing, more precome leaking from the tip of Sam's rock-hard dick. "Especially not such a _pretty_ gift horse. You went to someone with real talent, didn't you?"

"Only the best." Sam felt a little smug as he said it. It'd been awhile since Dean had been this approving of something he'd done.

"That's my boy." The artist that Sam had gone to, after research just as careful as anything he'd ever done for a case, had told him to keep the piece covered for a day or two. Just because it would be sore, and even the thin fabric of a T-shirt rubbing against it could easily be too much. Of course Sam had completely ignored those instructions - he wasn't going to keep a tattoo from Dean for an entire day just because the skin might be a little sensitive. Especially not _this_ tattoo. And given the way that Dean's mouth was currently moving over it, he was sure that he'd made the right decision. "Can't have anything on this perfect canvas that isn't a work of art...you don't deserve anything less, and you know it."

Dean could could get reverent sometimes, when talking about Sam's skin and what was on it. Even poetic. Sam had never minded in the slightest.

"You mean _you_ don't deserve anything less," Sam corrected in a low, throaty voice. He was matching the movements of Dean's hips, and it was only partly because it made his boxers rub nicely against his swollen cock. He was going to have a massive wet spot on the front of his jeans by the time that Dean finally got around to having actual sex with him. "I can't even see the ones on my back without using a mirror. They're pretty much only there for your benefit."

That got a purr out of Dean. And a hot, deep kiss that he planted smack-dab in the middle of Sam's shoulder blades. Sam moaned, feeling precome running thinly from the tip of his cock and soaking into his underwear. Dean had never actually told him that he couldn't touch himself while he was still admiring his tattoos, and they'd even had a couple of quick sessions where Sam jerked off while Dean touched and kissed the patches of ink on him. But he wouldn't do that now, and he guessed it was a matter of pride. Maybe it was even another kink of his: not even taking the chance that he could come until he had Dean's cock in him.

"So all the ones on your back are entirely for me, huh?" Dean asked. Sam went flat on the bed, spreading himself out completely for his big brother. "Mmm. I like that, Sammy. I like that a whole lot."

Dean reached beneath him, to stroke at his navel and the spiky geometric pattern that wrapped around it. It'd been given to him by another hunter with an artistic bent. A lot of powdered silver had been mixed in with the black ink, making him slightly toxic to any and all shapeshifters. And, in theory, he couldn't get turned by a bite, but he wasn't incredibly eager to test that out.

"Can't get over the idea of you actually _asking_ for this," Dean muttered against Sam's needle-stung, ink-stained skin. "Paying for it. Stretching out on a table and letting someone write it on you."

"Guess you really like the part about whoever it was knowing, too, huh?" Sam asked against the bedspread, eyes glossy and half-lidded with pleasure as this newest addition to his body was worshiped. "Who I belong to."

"That's my favorite part, Sammy."

Sam had gone with standard black, for the ink color. He'd never really liked flashier things, preferring to keep his tattoos at least sort of tasteful. The four words, centered perfectly between his shoulder blades, were large enough to be easily read. The font was nothing fancy, because he hadn't wanted to distort the letters or the message: _Property of Dean Winchester._

Yeah, there was definitely a reason that Dean liked it so much.

"So...people knowing. Was that what this was all about?" Dean asked softly, as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Sam's jeans again. This time, though, he actually started to pull them down, and Sam's breath caught in his throat at the sensation. Dean's voice was playful as he continued. "Are you just so much of a slut that you had to write my name on your body just to make sure that you couldn't hop in bed with anyone else?"

Sam panted against the rough fabric of the bedspread as his jeans slipped off the curve of his ass. After that, it didn't take very long for Dean to get them on the floor, quickly followed by his own.

"No, Dean, c'mon, I'm all yours," Sam assured, spreading his legs wide. His entrance was bared now, but he knew that, unfortunately, his boxers would hide it from Dean's view. "You know that."

"Yeah, 'cause it's written on your back." Dean paused, and Sam assumed that he was just staring down at the words again. "_Fuck_, Sam. That tattoo." Without warning, he yanked his boxers down, and Sam cried out in shock as cool air hit the pucker of his opening. "We're gonna be in here a week, easy. Maybe longer."

That made Sam all but shiver with excitement, and the realization that he'd just done so freaking well this time. He raised his hips a little more, murmured out, "Dean..."

There was the rustle of cotton as Dean tossed his own underwear carelessly away, and then one of his hands was gently stroking the smooth curve of Sam's hip. He didn't have any tattoos below his waist. Yet He'd been toying with the idea of getting something to wrap around one of his ankles...maybe more warding against demons.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean practically cooed. "What d'you want?"

Was he really going to make him say it? Yeah, obviously, he was. "Please, big brother." Sam groaned with the realization that Dean was finally reaching for the lube - it was about damn time. "I've got your name on me. I'm covered in tattoos because you like it. I've gone under the needle more times than I can count just to get you to fuck me...aren't you gonna come and use what's yours?"

That seemed to have been exactly the right thing to say. Sam heard Dean's boxers hit the floor, and seconds later, two fingers that were slick with cold lube pressed temptingly against his entrance. He gasped at the slight shock, then moaned so loudly that he was sure that the people in the room next door heard him. It wouldn't take very long to get him prepped. Three and a half years had made him pretty good at taking his brother's cock, even in a place that wasn't really designed for a cock to go.

If their positions had been switched, it would've taken up to half an hour, which Sam knew from experience. Dean rode him every once in awhile (not often enough to be anything but tight down there), hand running slowly over the pentagram-and-sun tattoo on Sam's right pectoral as he rocked slowly up and down. The antipossession sigil that'd started this whole weird, wonderful thing.

When Dean slipped into him with a smooth, well-practiced thrust, the only thing that Sam could really do was gasp out, "Massive - cock." Because it was true. He was filled up completely in a way that he'd loved with a passion the very first time he'd felt it; and Dean was laying so firmly against his prostate that a steady stream of precome was dripping from the tip of his own cock and pooling on the bedspread.

With one hand on his brand-new tattoo, Dean leaned down to whisper, "Such a good little slut, all mine," and it took every ounce of strength in Sam's body not to come then and there.

He mewled as Dean finally started to buck in and out of his ass, actually _mewled,_ and honestly didn't care what his brother thought of him for it. He couldn't hold it back, even though it definitely wasn't the first time that they'd done this. He took fistfuls of the bedspread. He thought about biting the pillow in front of him. Dean's hands were both on his tattoo, practically massaging it, and Sam could feel the full force of his green gaze bearing down on the shiny black ink, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pleasure as he mewled again.

Goddammit, he was actually getting close. Maybe if Dean hadn't teased him so much before they'd even started, he could've held out longer...

Sam knew he was a goner the second that Dean leaned down again, and he felt him breathing against the curve of his ear. His fingertips dug into that tattoo, the best tattoo Sam had ever gotten, as he spoke.

"Know you're not gonna last long this first time, baby boy," Dean breathed. Sam's cock jumped and pulsed. "I know exactly how to get your engine going...'cause, after all, you're my _property._"

Yep. Definitely a goner.

Sam cried out as he came. Dean's name, of course - he couldn't remember ever yelling anything else when they had sex. His hips bucked wildly, thick white come spattered onto the bedspread beneath him, and the tattoo between his shoulder blades blazed like it'd been done in acid instead of ink. It took awhile for his pleasure to ebb, but when it did, he slowly became aware of the sensation of a load of come inside of him, in addition to Dean's cock. He felt a little guilty for not even noticing his older brother's orgasm.

He made to just collapse onto the bed and let Dean slide out of him, exhausted, but two strong hands stopped him. It reminded him of the way that Dean had touched him earlier. But much gentler, of course.

"No, c'mon. You really don't wanna lay in that." Dean guided him over to the other side of the mattress before letting him lay down on his stomach, and when Sam saw a pool of white glittering where he'd been about to drop, he realized that he'd completely forgotten about his own come. He sighed softly.

"Thanks." Dean, flaccid, pulled out.

"Don't mention it." He laid down next to Sam, and Sam closed his eyes as he felt fingertips tracing the letters on his back. He knew that Dean would be examining it all over again, so he took the opportunity to breathe deeply and rest, trying to get his strength back. "This is a really gorgeous tattoo, Sammy."

"Knew you'd love it," Sam murmured, smiling into the pillow that his head was resting on. They didn't talk for about ten minutes. Sam had very nearly dozed off when Dean finally spoke up.

"Ready to go again?"

"Oh, god, yes." Sam pushed up against Dean's hand, his cock already starting to swell and harden again.


End file.
